


joys and toys

by clovenhooves



Series: exploits [2]
Category: The Centricide (Webseries)
Genre: Anal Sex, Ancom is serious about consent, Awkward First Times, Blow Jobs, Caught in the Act, Choking, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Dom Ancom, Hook-Up, Internalized Homophobia, Nazi is gay and repressed, Other, Riding, Slurs, Sub Nazi, ancom is non-binary but nazi's inner monologue misgenders qim, degredation, since he's a literal nazi, this is degenerate and i'm not sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:27:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26748766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clovenhooves/pseuds/clovenhooves
Summary: sniveling degenerate: idksniveling degenerate: was just thinkingsniveling degenerate: wondering if you wanted to uhsniveling degenerate: uhhhhhhhhMe: Spit it out.Me: Wait why the fuck are you even texting me? We live in the same house.sniveling degenerate: i didnt want to uhsniveling degenerate: i was afraid someone might like overhearMe: Overhear what?sniveling degenerate: hnnnsniveling degenerate: look dont take this the wrong way bc i fucking hate you and everything you stand forsniveling degenerate: but ive been going thru the worst dry spellsniveling degenerate: and last time was funsniveling degenerate: so i was wondering if you wanted to hook up again----Ancom shows Nazi the ropes.
Relationships: Ancom/Nazi, Nazi/Ancom, opposite unity - Relationship
Series: exploits [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1947619
Comments: 15
Kudos: 79





	joys and toys

**Author's Note:**

> heads up this is more or less a sequel to my other nazi/ancom fic which should be linked above. bonus points to anyone who knows what the titles reference :3

_ Harassing minorities is tiring work _ , Nazi thinks idly as he raises the bottle of Mountain Dew to his lips. The room is dark, lit only by the light from his computer screen. His back aches from being hunched over - ah, no problem, a few marches around the house and he’d be fine. Living with the three other extremists was draining enough on its own, so encountering the stray libtard on his coms during his extended Call of Duty sessions was just downright  _ insulting _ . You’d think the people in these communities would have a thicker skin, but sadly it seemed that the creep of Cultural Marxism had reached even the most hardened of gaming sanctuaries; you swing a few slurs around and suddenly you’re muted for the rest of the night. 

He scowls, throwing his controller to the floor. Dumb fucking game. 

He’s about to just say fuck it and call it a night when he hears a quiet  _ ding  _ from his phone, left abandoned on the charger to the right of him. He glances over and grabs it, narrowing his eyes. Who the hell was trying to contact him at two in the morning? 

He clicks the power button and sees a message from the contact labeled “sniveling degenerate” cover up his beautiful fashwave lockscreen of Josef Mengele. His eyes narrow; Ancom. It takes quite a bit to resist just throwing the phone across the room. 

He takes a moment to glance over the message. 

**sniveling degenerate: hey**

Hey.  _ Hey _ . 

What the fuck was that supposed to mean. 

Some...uncomfortable memories bubble up to the surface against his will as he lets his mind wander, wondering why  _ Ancom  _ of all people would be texting him this late. Especially with something so...vague. 

He gets a flash of memory he can’t hold back - Ancom on his knees, Ancom with his hands behind his back- 

He shakes his head,  _ hard _ , trying to clear away such thoughts. A moment of weakness wasn’t something to necessarily self-flagellate over, but it also wasn’t something to...commit to memory. 

Especially in those quiet shameful nights where his hands and mind wander alike. 

He looks back to his phone. The message lingers. He’s about to slide it away, turn off his phone even, forget about it- 

_ Ding _ . 

**sniveling degenerate: u there?**

Nazi grits his teeth. This was a horrible idea. 

A terrible idea. 

His fingers are moving across the digital keyboard, thumb hitting send before he can stop himself.

**Me: It’s 2 AM. What do you want?**

To his surprise, Ancom opens his message as soon as he sends it. 

**sniveling degenerate: idk  
** **sniveling degenerate: was just thinking  
** **sniveling degenerate: wondering if you wanted to uh  
** **sniveling degenerate: uhhhhhhhh**

**Me: Spit it out.** **  
** **Me: Wait why the fuck are you even texting me? We live in the same house.**

**sniveling degenerate: i didnt want to uh  
** **sniveling degenerate: i was afraid someone might like overhear**

**Me: Overhear what?**

**sniveling degenerate: hnnn  
** **sniveling degenerate: look dont take this the wrong way bc i fucking hate you and everything you stand for  
** **sniveling degenerate: but ive been going thru the worst dry spell  
** **sniveling degenerate: and last time was fun  
** **sniveling degenerate: so i was wondering if you wanted to hook up again**

Nazi stares at the screen for a long, long time. 

He glances at the clock at the edge of his computer screen. 2:14 AM. Beat. Beat. 2:15 AM. 

He thinks of the shameful nights where he mutters Ancom’s name under quaking, hateful breaths. That day had gone through his head more times than he’d like to admit. To think that he could have the real thing again...

His hands are shaking as he types. 

**Me: Typical anarchist crawling back to lick the boots of authority just to satisfy your own needs.  
** **Me: Pathetic.**

**sniveling degenerate: yes daddy insult me more uwu  
** **sniveling degenerate: stfu fascist  
** **sniveling degenerate: its a yes or a no**

**Me: Come to my room.**

Ancom types for a bit after he sends that, but ultimately says nothing in response. Nazi’s heart is pounding in his ears - oh fuck, what has he just agreed to? 

Even though he tried his best to act in control of himself over the messages, he feels as though he’s just signed a deal with the devil, his bedroom door a portal to Hell. 

He almost falls out of his seat when Ancom opens the door unannounced, entering the room and closing it behind him in one smooth motion. Ancom- 

Oh, fucking hell. 

Ancom wears a short red skirt, layered over thin black stockings. The lime green hoodie he wears is smaller than usual, the fabric riding up to expose a smooth, flat stomach. While the lower half of his face is covered by his bandana, even in the dim light of the bedroom Nazi can tell that’s  _ eyeliner  _ he’s got on, smeared on messy and thick around those hooded green eyes. Something in Nazi’s stomach drops. He’d obviously prepared for this. 

Nazi isn’t sure how he feels about that. 

Ancom quirks an eyebrow at him, leaning against his door. “Are you just going to gawk at me or are we going to fuck?” 

Nazi sputters. “Y-You can’t just  _ say  _ that! It’s...obscene!” 

Ancom takes a step forward, causing the nationalist to instinctively shrink back. “Ah, right. This is a professional,  _ serious  _ hookup, I forgot. Let me go get my briefcase and cuff links. My fucking diamond-encrusted dildo.” 

Nazi’s face goes bright red. “This was a horrible idea. I don’t know what I was thinking.” 

Ancom rolls his eyes and closes the distance between them, running a creeping hand down Nazi’s thigh as he walks by. Nazi feels a shudder race down his spine as Ancom passes by him and approaches his bed, gazing at the swastika pattern with disgust. 

“ _ Jesus _ , you’re a walking stereotype.” He grabs the edge of the blanket and rips off the carefully made assembly, throwing it to the floor to reveal a pattern of even smaller swastikas on the sheets. 

Ancom gives him a blank look. “I don’t even know what I expected.” Shrugging, the anarchist throws himself onto the bed, sprawling onto his back before sitting up to look over at him. “Well?” 

Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck. This was really happening. Ancom was on his bed. Nazi’s thoughts are racing too fast for him to even pretend to be offended by Ancom wrinkling his just-pressed comforter. He had another man on his bed. Or...man-adjacent... _ thing _ . Whatever Ancom was. Whatever Nazi needed Ancom to be right now. 

Shakily, Nazi stands up from his chair. His legs feel like they’re about to collapse in on themselves, but somehow he manages to cross the seemingly enormous distance between his desk and his bed. Slowly, he takes a seat beside the anarchist. He stares at the floor, awkwardly folding his hands in his lap. The contrast between his pleated dress pants and Ancom’s stocking-clad legs is almost comical. 

In the corner of his eye he can see Ancom turn to look at him, but he doesn’t dare meet the leftist’s gaze. “So...I know last time was pretty out of the blue, so I thought it would be a good idea to establish some things before we jump in. Just so we’re on the same page.” 

Nazi glances over, eyes narrowing. “What kind of things?” 

“Like...y’know, basic stuff. Limits, who’s topping, safewords. Shit like that.” 

“Topping? Safeword…?” Oh Evola, this sounded complicated. Last time was so  _ easy _ . Thoughtless. Why did Ancom have to make it feel so... _ official?  _ Damn  leftist morality. 

Ancom rolls his eyes. “I’ll break it down real easy for your fascist brain to understand it,” he says, reaching over and giving Nazi’s head a playful tap for emphasis. “Is there anything you can think of that you don’t want me to do to you?” 

Nazi purses his lips before a dreadful thought pops into his head. “Uh. I don’t want - I -” he stammers, blushing, trying to word this delicately. “I don’t...want anything... _ penetrating  _ me.” He shudders at the thought; he had no clue how one could find  _ pleasure _ from such a thing. 

Ancom lets out an insulting cackle at that. “Sure, whatever. I’m not that crazy about topping anyway.” He quirks an eyebrow at the nationalist. “So...how do you feel about uh, ‘penetrating’  _ me _ ?” 

Nazi feels blood rush to his face before making a U-turn and pooling somewhere between his stomach and his crotch. “I...I can’t believe I’m even having this conversation right now.” He swallows hard. “I mean- it’s only natural for me to, as the obvious... _ man  _ in this dynamic.” He waves his hands, vaguely gesturing in the direction of Ancom’s skirt. 

“Alright, cool.” Ancom turns his body to face Nazi, pulling up his legs onto the bed. His sitting position leaves little to the imagination, spread thighs visible under the lifting fabric of his skirt as well as a hint of green underwear. Nazi tries not to let his gaze linger long enough for the leftist to notice, but Ancom - bastard that he is - quickly catches on, spreading his legs further with a sly grin. “See something you like?” 

Nazi is shaking. He feels sick, a hollow swirling feeling churning up his stomach. He drags a clammy hand down his face. “This is degenerate.” 

Ancom, noticing the aghast expression on the authoritarian’s face, lets his coquettish tone fade for a moment as he leans forward, face dropping in slight concern. “Hey, Nazi, it’s okay. I know you’ve probably been thinking about a lot of shit lately ever since we...y’know. And it’s cool, I get it. But it’s just you and me in here.” 

Nazi refocuses his gaze to meet Ancom’s soft lime-colored eyes. 

“Let me help you.” 

It takes every ounce of willpower in Nazi’s body to stop him from standing up and pushing Ancom out of his room, from throwing himself into his bed and forgetting this whole interaction ever happened. Instead, he forces his broad shoulders to relax and squeezes his eyes shut. 

He hears the shifting of fabric as Ancom inches closer to him. His hat is taken off his head, and judging by the thud from across the room he figures Ancom’s thrown it somewhere onto the floor. He feels those long fingers reach for the top button of his dress shirt and twitches, recoiling at the touch. 

“Nazi?” he hears Ancom’s voice ask. “Do you want this?” 

Quickly, before he can take it back, he nods. 

With a sudden shift in the weight on the bed he feels Ancom climb on top of him, legs straddling his hips as he pushes him down by his torso. One by one he feels the buttons of his shirt come undone - now, shakily, he opens his eyes. 

Ancom looks up at him. Smiling, determined, in control. He wants this. 

Nazi isn’t sure if Ancom’s enthusiasm makes him feel better or worse. At least before he could delude himself into believing he was the one who held the cards, that he was simply using the anarchist for his own pleasure regardless of what the leftist had in his pants- 

Speaking of, he feels pressure beginning to build between his legs as Ancom runs an inquisitive hand down his bare stomach, the other coming up to tug at his now fully unbuttoned shirt. 

“Sit up,” Ancom commands, and Nazi obeys without even thinking about it. His mind is far too conflicted right now to protest, a whole lifetime of the propaganda and ideological inconsistencies that made up his very core swirling around in confusion. Ancom pulls off Nazi’s shirt and drops it on the floor. He feels the leftist assessing him with his gaze, and he gulps, hoping he looks more confident than he feels. No one’s ever seen him like this. 

“Y’know, I wasn’t lying last time,” Ancom says, dragging painted nails down Nazi’s chest. “You really are cute, for a Nazi and all. I guess there’s something alluring about you. I can’t deny that.” 

“Really?” Nazi asks, licking his lips. Ancom’s hair looks so soft in the dim light. 

“Yeah.” Ancom says, sitting up. He seems to consider something for a moment, eyes far-off, before he perks up again. “Ah- right, before we go any further I probably should’ve said  _ my  _ limits. And I know as a fucking fascist you’re unlikely to give a shit about what I say but I swear to god if you cross a line I’m going to tell everyone about how you not only fucked me but came back for more.” The thought makes a chill race down Nazi’s spine. He was willing to put up with the punk’s demands as long as they both got off in the end, anyway. 

“For one, don’t take any of my clothes off unless I tell you to,” he continues, gesturing towards his hoodie. “Dysphoria. And don’t touch my dick.” 

“Yeah, wasn’t planning on it,” Nazi retorts, mouth twisting up in disgust. “You sure have a lot of rules for an anarchist.” 

“They’re not rules!” Ancom squeals, offended. “They’re  _ guidelines  _ set by us as  _ consenting sexual partners _ . I know your nuclear family bullshit assumes a submissive wife who just bends over and lets her husband do whatever he feels like, but as you can see this is a situation  _ pretty fucking far  _ from that. If you don’t want to follow those guidelines then we don’t have to do anything.” 

Nazi shakes his head. “Alright, alright, cool it. Jesus. I can play along. Anything else I should know?” 

“Uh, we should probably have a safeword just in case. You don’t have a lot of experience.” 

“You never told me what that was.” 

“It’s pretty self-explanatory, dumbass. It’s a word you can say while we’re fucking that will tell me to stop what I’m doing right now.”

“Why can’t I just  _ say  _ ‘stop what you’re doing right now?’” 

“It’s easier just to have one word - god, you’re such a drama queen. Anyway, it can be just any random word, something you wouldn’t normally say during sex.” 

“How about  _ sonnenrad?”  _

Judging by Nazi’s shit-eating grin, Ancom can deduce that whatever a  _ sonnenrad _ is can’t be any good. But, not wanting to wait around any longer, he shrugs, nodding. “Good enough for me.” 

“So we’re good now?” Nazi asks, now increasingly uncomfortable with Ancom’s weight on top of him coupled with the cold air passing over his bare skin. 

“We’re good,” Ancom says, before suddenly pulling down his bandana and leaning forward to catch Nazi in a deep kiss. 

Nazi lets out a small muffled “oh” at the movement, feeling Ancom’s eager mouth moving against him. He’s kissed people -  _ women,  _ of course - before, sure, but that was a long time ago. It’s been decades since he’s had anything resembling a real relationship, and it never got  _ this _ far. And those kisses were chaste and dignified affairs, gentlemanly gestures that he always initiated at the end of a date. 

Ancom kissed like he was starving, like he wanted to unhinge his jaw and consume Nazi entirely. It was almost terrifying, but at the same time the leftist’s sloppy movements sent a thrill through him - the disgust of it all, the blatant display of wanton homosexual lust. Ancom was like the physical embodiment of the gay menace that Nazi had warned his men about - an incubus that crawls into the beds of weak men and corrupts them from the inside. The thought makes that cold clamminess start to overtake him again - that pure, raw  _ fear  _ that made his mouth run dry even despite the intruding wetness of Ancom’s tongue. 

Ancom, picking up on Nazi’s reservations, takes a hand and starts palming at the rightist in between his legs. Nazi gasps at that - right at the same time Ancom lightly nips at his bottom lip before breaking from the kiss, small body heaving with oxygen-deprived excitement. 

“You’re getting hard,” Ancom murmurs. “I’m going to take these off,” he adds, reaching for Nazi’s belt. He scrunches up his nose upon noticing the war eagle emblem emblazoned on his belt buckle. “You’re actually repulsive…” 

Nazi watches, transfixed, as Ancom makes quick work of his belt and zipper. He feels the slickness of his mouth, tongue lightly running over his lips - wet with Ancom’s spit. He swallows, shuddering. His cock throbs as Ancom unbuttons his pants. 

Nazi’s thoughts bounce around his brain like a shaken-up pinball machine- 

_ Safeword. Safeword. Tell me to stop. Sonnenrad. Safeword. Stop. Sonnenrad.  _

Nazi doesn’t want this to stop. 

Ancom pulls out the nationalist’s dick and gazes up at him, licking his lips. 

Nazi takes in a deep breath of air and leans his head back, letting his head hit the stiff mattress. This was fine. It’s okay. This was like last time, now - Ancom  _ serving  _ him, wanting to please him, that’s what this was about, right? Ancom wanted to serve him, his superior. Wanted to suck him off. 

The thought makes his cock twitch. He hears Ancom’s insulting giggle, but doesn’t look down. 

“Someone’s excited. You must really want this.” 

When Nazi doesn’t say anything, Ancom doubles-down. 

“You must really want my mouth wrapped around your cock. Is that what you want, fascist?” Nazi groans as he feels Ancom’s hands spread open his thighs, grits his teeth as the leftist leaves light touches around his base without giving him any relief. “You want me to choke and gag on your dick again? Want me to satisfy your little power fetish?” He can hear the smile in the left-libertarian’s voice as he adds, almost in a whisper- 

“Want to fuck your little anarchist slut?” 

Oh fuck. Ancom was actually going to kill him. His soul was going to exit his body straight through his dick and the ideology known as Nazism would cease to exist, literally too turned on and ashamed to stay on this planet any longer. 

“Nazi?” Ancom purrs, and Nazi’s entire body freezes up when he feels the warm wetness of the leftist’s tongue sliding down his shaft. “Anarkitty got your tongue?” 

“That was terrible,” Nazi quickly responds, snapping out of his daze just long enough to lift himself up and look down to see Ancom smirking up at him, fucking  _ nuzzling  _ his cock with a (definitely not cute) blushing cheek. 

“Oh, well, I guess I can just be quiet,” Ancom says. “I can think of something I’m sure you’d rather have me use my mouth for anyway, right? What was it you said last time? Using it to  _ please real Aryan men _ ?” He chuckles, and the sound makes Nazi’s heart flip over in a weird way that he doesn’t have enough time to contemplate before Ancom opens his mouth and slides a good few inches of Nazi’s dick down his throat. 

The white identitarian grips his bedsheets as Ancom runs his tongue down the underside of his shaft, moving his head up and down in smooth, practiced motions to take more and more of him. Nazi wonders how many people Ancom has done this to over the course of his existence, wonders when he lost his virginity - was he  _ always _ this open about his unnatural desires, or was there a time when he, too, felt as restrained as Nazi? 

Nazi grits his teeth; oh, god, the thought of any real similarity between him and  _ Ancom  _ was...incredibly unsettling. Especially when it came to matters of sexuality. There’s no way that was the case, Nazi reasons ( _ as Ancom takes him down to the hilt, treacherous tongue swirling around him, eyes hazy and intense _ ). Ancom’s entire ideology was based around hedonism and the abolition of the family unit. It must be encoded into him somehow, his whorish nature part of his very core. Nazi had no such flaws. He was a near-perfect specimen - strong, disciplined, the perfect patriarch ( _ Ancom hums around his cock and Nazi can’t stop the moan from slipping from his lips, bringing a shaking hand up to press against the back of the anarchist’s head _ ) to represent his nation and his people. Him and Ancom were  _ nothing  _ alike. Just the thought enraged him ( _ that anger jumping from his hands to his crotch, dick rock-hard and aching in Ancom’s mouth as his filed nails dig into the leftist’s scalp) _ . 

Ancom comes up for air, whole upper body heaving with the effort as his eyes flutter shut. “Fuck, Nazi. Can’t say I had choking to death on your cock in my plans for tonight,” he says, voice gravelly, and  _ fuck  _ that mental image was doing some not-so-great things to Nazi’s already overpowering arousal. Nazi realizes he’s breathing hard, too, blood rushing through his ears as he slowly releases his iron grip on Ancom’s head. 

“Keep going,” Nazi mutters.  _ Please _ , he thinks, but doesn’t dare say. He needs this. Fuck, he needs this. 

And instead of saying anything, Ancom just  _ smiles _ , which was more threatening than any words that could’ve come out from behind those tiger fang teeth. He instead goes back to licking up and down Nazi’s shaft - seemingly deliberately messy, practically drooling over the rightist’s cock. God, it’s fucking disgusting (and really fucking hot, Nazi realizes, watching in a sort of mesmerized arousal as Ancom’s girlish lips mouth streaks of shining saliva onto him). 

Slowly, Ancom pulls back, sitting up for a moment to reach into one of the pockets of his hoodie. Nazi raises an eyebrow when he sees him produce a small bottle filled with what seems to be a viscous clear liquid from it. “The hell is that?” 

Ancom lets out an amused  _ pfft _ . “Lube, you fucking virgin. I want to ride you.” He pauses, biting his lower lip. “Is that...cool with you?” 

Oh. 

Nazi blinks. 

_ Oh.  _

Ancom wanted Nazi... _ inside  _ of him. His mind distantly thinks back to the conversation from earlier, Ancom making some comment about being penetrated, but his head is too full of clouded arousal and suddenly panicked confusion to remember exactly. And really, it didn’t matter - sure, it wasn’t the near ritualistic deflowering of some untouched pure Aryan woman he’d fantasized about for years, but hell, he’d been walking this earth for nearly eighty years and he was burning up with curiosity at what it really felt like to  _ fuck  _ someone. He’s torn, almost - he almost wants to say no, to bury himself in the familiarity of Ancom’s horrible, wonderful mouth instead, but he’d be lying if he wasn’t  _ incredibly fucking tempted  _ to let Ancom...demonstrate how this whole dicks-in-asses thing was supposed to even work. 

“Yo,” comes Ancom’s voice, breaking him from his stupor as the impatient leftist snaps his fingers in front of Nazi’s face. “Earth to Nazi. You never answered my question. You know I-” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Nazi says, shaking his head. “Consent. Go ahead. Just...do whatever it is you need to do, I have no idea how this is supposed to work.” He waves his hands vaguely, glancing over at the wall instead of the eager anarchist below him. 

“What, fucking?” Ancom asks, and Nazi hears him open the bottle of lube with a  _ pop _ . “That’s almost sad. I’d feel bad for you if one, you weren’t a fucking Nazi, and two, your inexperience wasn’t weirdly cute. It’s kinda nice to see you all  _ vulnerable  _ like this.” 

“Fuck off, I’m not vulner- _ hhh jesus that’s cold! _ ” Nazi starts to retort before his demeanor is shaken by the sudden sensation of the lube drizzling around his cock. He looks down again to see Ancom pouring some into his hand before leaving the bottle on the bed and gently stroking a hand up and down his shaft, the slick substance mixing with the drying saliva already left behind. 

“You’re such a baby,” Ancom mutters. Nazi grits his teeth, letting his body adjust to the sensation before Ancom leans back onto the bed, reaching under his skirt. At first Nazi narrows his eyes, wondering what the anarchist was doing before his breath catches in his throat at the sight of Ancom pulling off his underwear - carefully pulling the green panties down over his stockings and arpund the rough edges of his sneakers until they were off his body entirely. Nazi blushes a deep flustered red as he notices the tiny bow on the front of the garments before Ancom carelessly throws them to the floor. Cute. 

“I may or may not have spent the last hour before coming over here fucking myself in my bedroom,” Ancom says. “So I should be good to go.” Nazi scrunches his nose in obvious disgust. 

“That’s gross.” 

“Oh, is it now?” Ancom gives Nazi an annoyed look, sitting back up on his knees. “Would you rather finger me yourself?” 

“Fuck, no!” 

“Then stop complaining.” 

Nazi huffs but says nothing, watching with a quiet sort of curiosity as Ancom smooths his skirt over himself and slowly lifts himself up, inching closer to the authoritarian. He takes in a sharp breath, heart picking up again as Ancom grabs his cock, angling it towards him. 

“You ready?” he asks, and sheepishly Nazi nods. 

Oh god, this was disgusting. He was really about to put his dick inside of another man. He was really about to-  _ oh, fuck.  _

Ancom sinks onto him and Nazi’s eyes pop open, comically wide and alarmed at the new sensation. Ancom is tight - really tight, fuck. Nazi isn’t sure how that’s even possible with how much it sounded like he got around - but that didn’t matter right now, definitely not, not with Ancom groaning softly as he shifted his body weight above him, his cock burying itself deeper into the leftist. 

Biting his lip, Ancom looks down at Nazi before breaking into an infuriating smirk. “You good? Don’t have a heart attack or something.” 

Nazi sputters a bit, racking his brain for some kind of witty comeback but coming up empty as Ancom leans down and places a small hand on his bare shoulder. The leftist seems to be trying to adjust, trying to find a comfortable position, moving this way and that - all the while sinking deeper onto Nazi, impaling himself on his cock. God, he  _ felt  _ like he just might actually have a fucking heart attack. 

Ancom finally slows, taking in deep, measured breaths as the two get used to the sensation. He grins down at Nazi, who’s screwed his eyes shut as hard as he possibly can, fingers clutching the bedsheets as though they were the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. 

“Look at me, Nazi,” Ancom coos, and reluctantly the fascist opens his eyes. Ancom, hands running down the rightist’s chest to steady himself, body warm and flushed, skirt covering up the space where their bodies met. 

Fuck, this was so wrong. 

Ancom gradually starts to move, bony hips gently lifting themselves a few inches off Nazi’s cock before settling back down, over and over, the feeling of the leftist’s walls squeezing around him sending shockwaves of bewildered pleasure through the authoritarian’s head. Nazi felt like he were in a dream - no, like he were in some kind of terrible fever-induced  _ nightmare  _ and Ancom were a demon trying to fuck all the dignity and morals and righteousness out of him. His eyes dart around the room, looking for something,  _ anything  _ to pay attention to instead of the all-too-real presence of the leftist on top of him, and every time his eyes drift back to the hypnotizing movements of that bright red skirt ruffling with every up and down movement. 

Ancom huffs, and suddenly grabs onto one of Nazi’s hands, moving it to his hip. “Don’t be such a fucking pillow princess. Or are you just going to lay back and let the degenerate lefty fag fuck your brains out?” 

Nazi instinctively squeezes the soft flesh under the skirt and holds back a groan. Maybe if he closed his eyes he could just pretend he had a girl on top of him? But, no, not with all the noise Ancom was making - those squeaky whines may be feminine, but it was all too obvious that he was a  _ man _ , this...this disgusting wolf in sheep’s clothing who prettied up his body in makeup and skirts but was just as male as he was. God, he was starting to feel sick again. Especially with how  _ good  _ it felt, the way Ancom established a smooth and even rhythm, jagged chewed nails digging into Nazi’s skin as he fucked himself on his cock. It was better than anything he’d ever felt before, and he hated it. 

Shakily, he lets another hand grab onto Ancom’s other hip, keeping as strong of a grip as he could. He tries to match the leftist’s movements without even realizing it, hips thrusting upward as Ancom sinks down, hands pulling down  _ hard _ around his waist. 

“You call  _ me  _ the slut,” Ancom pants, “but you’re the one forsaking everything your doomed fucking ideology stands for just to get your dick wet. I  _ know  _ I’m a degenerate. Aren’t you supposed to be the one with morals here?” He grins, and Nazi grunts in frustration, responding to the aggravating tinny sound of the anarchist’s voice by pulling him down harder, faster, thrusting his cock deep into him. 

Ancom fucking  _ whimpers  _ and fuck if it were possible for Nazi to get any harder. “That’s right. You like it when I remind you of how pathetic you are. That you’re defiling yourself in your own bedroom in the middle of the night, maybe hoping I’ll stay quiet enough not to wake the others up. Imagine what they’d think?” 

While the thought is fucking terrifying, Nazi tries not to show it. “I’ve got little respect for Commie and Ancap at this point. You and Commie just go to show what happens when you abandon your values. Everything just degenerates.” 

Ancom laughs. “You’re just mad Commie fucks better than you.” He grips Nazi’s shoulder and suddenly  _ slams  _ himself down, Nazi swearing loudly at the feeling of his dick burying itself to the hilt. Ancom arches his back, obviously having hit a particularly sweet spot, and moves his hips agonizingly slowly, relishing the feeling of the fascist filling him up. “...and has a bigger cock,” he barely wheezes out, eyes fluttering shut in bliss. 

Nazi glares, grabbing hard onto Ancom and easily pulling the smaller ideology upwards. Ancom whines, mouth opening at the start of a complaint before fading into breathy moans as Nazi drags him down as hard as he can. 

“How’s that, you fucking fag?” he hisses, watching with sick glee as Ancom throws his head back, nailing that spot he’d apparently found with every thrust. 

“Fuck, fuck!” Ancom groans, hands moving down to gently place themselves over Nazi’s. Nazi slaps him away, dismissive. 

“Don’t lay your fucking hands on me.” 

“Yeah?” Ancom’s voice is high, shaky. “Don’t want the tr-tranny touching you even while you’ve got your dick inside of me? You- _ ah!  _ You’re just trying to ignore how fucking  _ gay  _ you are.” He manages a weak laugh, daring to bring his hands back over Nazi’s. 

Nazi’s eye twitches and before he can think about it he raises an arm and  _ backhands  _ Ancom, the anarchist’s head whipping to one side before turning to face him again. At first Nazi’s heart drops - he knew at any moment Ancom could just get up and walk away, or, god forbid, call out for his precious Commie to wake up and kick his ass. But instead the look on Ancom’s eyes isn’t that of indignant rage but instead of complete and utter  _ lust,  _ half-lidded eyes glazed over, mouth slightly parted. 

“You like that?” Nazi gasps, barely managing to keep his other hand’s grip on Ancom. “You like that, you fucking whore?” 

Shakily Ancom nods, seemingly about to say something, before Nazi gets an idea and lifts himself up just enough to reach his free hand around the libertarian’s thin throat. Now it’s Ancom’s turn to have his eyes pop open, obviously taken aback as Nazi slowly squeezes around the pale flesh. 

“ _ Hngh _ ...Nazi, I-” Ancom sputters, voice dying as Nazi’s other hand reaches up, both now choking as hard as he could manage. Nazi’s eyes narrow as he thrusts upwards into Ancom, mind suddenly racing with every annoyance, every insult hurled his way, every time the stupid fucking leftist got on his nerves. How nice it was to shut him up. He meets Ancom’s gaze right before his eyes roll back into his head; this was all  _ his  _ fault. This fucking siren who’d lured him into bed, who’s stripped him of his moral compass. Nazi grunts, cock throbbing as he feels Ancom swallow frantically under his hands, the little vibrations of his moans cut short. The leftist’s insides throbbing around him just felt too fucking good, especially watching Ancom drool and shake at every second he was deprived of air. 

Finally, Nazi lets go, a smile of his own creeping to his lips as he watches Ancom gasp loudly, taking in hard breaths as his hands grab at his bruising neck. 

“Fuck, Nazi, are you  _ trying  _ to fucking kill me?” he wheezes, each breath of air tapering off into a moan. “Because jokes on you, I’m into that shit.” 

“Of course you are,” Nazi growls, hands moving from Ancom’s hips to squeeze at his supple ass. “I knew you had a thing for authority. I bet you get off on it when I tell you what to do, when I insult you, when I tell you how  _ disgusted _ I am by you.” 

Ancom rolls his hips, trying to get back into the rhythm as Nazi thrusts up into him. “Trying to cope with how attractive you find me?” 

“There’s nothing  _ attractive  _ about a skinny shemale with a domination fetish and a drug addiction.” 

“Shemale? God, I can  _ hear  _ the fucking porn-induced brainrot leaking out of your ears. I can imagine this is going to provide some gr- _ ahh _ -great jerk off material in the future, at least.” 

“You wish I thought about you that much.” 

“I live rent-free in your head, Naz. Don’t act like you’re not going to rub one out tomorrow thinking about h-how good it feels to fuck guys.” 

Scowling, Nazi takes a hand and lifts up Ancom’s skirt just enough for his other hand to come down hard, slapping his ass with a fleshy  _ pop _ , eliciting a breathy moan from the leftist. 

“Fuck, daddy…” Ancom mumbles, before his eyebrows raise up almost high enough to meet his hairline. He slaps a hand over his mouth, but it’s too late. 

“ _ Daddy _ ? That’s fucking  _ vile _ , Ancom,” Nazi groans, as though hearing that didn’t sent a jolt of pleasure straight to his dick. 

“Shut up,” Ancom mumbles, muffled by his own hand, before Nazi pulls him down  hard onto him again, nailing his prostate with wicked precision for a man who’s never put his dick inside of anything other than a piece of silicone before. Nazi can’t help but smile as he watches Ancom’s eyes roll back up again, head leaning back in ecstasy. 

“I know every fag gets off on seducing good, heterosexual men,” he grunts, the air filling with the sick slap of skin against skin coupled with Ancom’s sweet little  _ ah, ah, ah _ s. “It’s how your repulsive lifestyle spreads. You’ve brought me to a moment of weakness with no real women in this house. I’m perfectly content with using you to get off for the time being.” 

“Yes, d-daddy,” Ancom squeals, back arching beautifully as Nazi pounds into him. “I love it when you use me. I’m your li-little  _ ah- _ anarchist fuck hole. I love your Nazi cock.”

Nazi grits his teeth. He can feel that familiar tightening in his gut - he’s close, and maybe Ancom is too, because the words falling out of his mouth sound nothing like the proud anarchist who first came into this room. Either way, it’s fucking hot, Nazi can’t deny that. He tightens his grip on Ancom’s hips and starts pounding home, trying to hit that spot that made Ancom squeal the loudest, each time making his voice rise another octave. 

“Ah- fuck! Fuck!” Ancom is fucking  _ shaking _ , entire body caught up in quivers and spasms as he feels the full length of the fascist moving in and out of him. “Yes! Fucking fill me up! Don’t you w-want to pump me full of your fascist cum? Ha...think of all those poor future white children you’re leaving to die inside of some fag’s ass.” 

And oh, fuck, that does it. Just that mental image has Nazi feeling himself spill over, hands digging so deep into Ancom that he knows he’s going to leave bruises. He groans a long, drawn-out swear in his mother tongue, keeping himself buried deep inside the anarchist as he blows his load. 

“Oh fucking hell daddy, that’s it, breed your fucking anarkiddie whore,” Ancom sighs, and as Nazi’s eyes flutter shut he can feel the anarchist wetting his stomach and chest with weak spurts of his own cum. “I’m having my insides stuffed by a Nazi…” 

Everything - the room, Ancom, Nazi’s own body - vanishes in a flash of wonderful, blissful white. 

When Nazi comes back to earth, all he can hear is his own heavy breaths mixing with Ancom’s, the air reeking of sex. He feels a weight on top of him - he opens his eyes to see Ancom completely collapsed onto his chest, the top of his head nuzzling gently into his neck. He swears he’s  _ just  _ about to push the anarchist off of him in disgust before - to his absolute horror - the door swings open. 

“Hey, Nazi, did you eat the last bagel again? I swear, it’s coming out of your rent next ti-  _ oh, fuck! What the fuck! _ ” 

A  _ very  _ flustered looking Ancap stumbles out of the room as quickly as he entered, slamming the door hard behind him. “I don’t know what the fuck I walked in on but forcing me to witness it was definitely a violation of the NA-fucking-P! Lock the door next time!” 

Nazi gets up as fast as he can, hands pushing Ancom hard enough off him to knock him to the floor. 

“Hey, what the hell?” comes Ancom’s voice, and Nazi frantically reaches for the discarded blanket to cover himself with. 

“Get the hell out of my room.” 

“You serious?” Ancom stands up, and Nazi almost fucking  _ wretches  _ when he sees the smeared stain of drying cum across the front of his hoodie. 

“I need a fucking shower. Get out of my room or I’m going to blow your head off,” Nazi mutters, words coming out fast and nearly incomprehensible. Dirty, dirty, dirty. He feels choked up, like he’s about to cry, almost. 

Ancom rolls his eyes. “Yeah, whatever. Just hit me up again next time you want to fuck your way out of your problems.” 

He turns around and walks out the door. Nazi can hear the muffled sounds of a distressed Ancap, evidently encountering the cum-soaked anarchist in the kitchen, but Nazi isn’t paying attention. He grimaces as he feels the horrible sensation of the cum on his chest soaking into the blanket. This whole goddamn room needed to be scrubbed down, disinfected. Every inch of it. 

Slowly, he gets up, blanket wrapped around his upper body like a towel. He was going to get a scorching hot shower, the kind that made your skin burn a deep red. That was the only thing that could make him feel clean again. Pure.  


He bends down to pick up his hat, laying discarded on the carpet - just the sight of it calming, somehow, a reminder of who he _really_ was without these...corrupting influences. But as he picks it up, a small flash of green in the corner of his eye draws his attention.  


He looks over only for another wave of disgust to wash over him. Ancom forgot to collect his fucking underwear. 

How vile.  


...  


Nazi takes the garment and shoves it into his pocket. 


End file.
